Gay Cavalier Read online

  As she cantered slowly round the edge of the field, she forgot Dan; forgot, even, the purpose for which she had come out. Because hunting was in her blood and she loved it, loved the feel of a good horse under her, the bright, crisp morning air and the wonderful vista of green, undulating grass spread out, as far as eye could see, before her. It felt, suddenly, good to be alive—good to be Deirdre Sheridan, whose job was selling horses and training them to the point of perfection Martin's Luck had reached…

  Hounds were drawing the first covert when Deirdre came up with them. From the interior of the wood came the encouraging "toot-toot" of Joe Tyler's horn and, to the left, sharply silhouetted against the skyline, Sam Hood, the Second Whip, stood motionless at the covert edge. His stentorian: "Tally-ho byke!" was echoed, an instant later, by a full-throated baying as, one by one, the pack picked up the scent and gave tongue.

  There was much confused activity in the undergrowth— then Sam stood up in his stirrups, cap raised on high.

  "Gone a-awaay!"

  Hounds emerged in a jumble of eager bodies at the far side of the covert, old Wanderer in the lead, to stream out across the ploughland below, following a breast-high scent.

  Joe, his horn to his lips, put his grey expertly over a cut-and-laid and went off after them. The horn made music and Sir Henry Hollis, shouting: "Keep to the headland there!" at the pitch of his lungs, led the field to the edge of the plough in jostling single file.

  Deirdre hesitated, taking stock. She was well behind, thanks to the little exchange with Dan and, if she followed Sir Henry and the bulk of the field, it might take her some time to catch up. To the left and separated from her by a stiff post and rails, was grassland—part of the point-to-point course.

  Hounds, she saw, had checked on the far side of the plough, but old Wanderer was on his own, veering to the left. It was worth taking a chance, for Wanderer was seldom at fault. She put Martin's Luck confidently at the rails and he sailed over them, to land with effortless ease on the springy turf beyond.

  The point-to-point fences were wired off, with scraps of red cloth hanging from the wire, but parallel to them lay a line of good, jumpable fences which the big chestnut took in his stride.

  The thunder of hooves behind her told Deirdre that others had followed her lead, but she did not realize that Alan Carmichael was among them until hounds came surging through from the ploughland and they pulled up, their horses blowing a little, to give Joe Tyler room to make his cast.

  Alan was riding Moonbeam and the glimpse she caught of his tanned, smiling face set her heart beating wildly. She had seen no sign of him at the meet, had not imagined, somehow, that he would be there, for his letter hadn't suggested any such possibility. And she knew, even as he edged Moonbeam towards her, that she couldn't face him—not then, when he had caught her off guard, when she hadn't been prepared to see him, when every breath she drew, every beat of her treacherous heart was a betrayal of emotions she had no right to feel for him. Emotions which were disloyal to Sean, whom he had so cruelly injured— emotions which were unworthy, for her own part, a travesty of her dreams…

  In a panic, she jerked at her horse's head, and, as she did so, hounds found their line again and the rest of the field came pounding into sight over the crest of a hill, Sir Henry at their head. She made to join them, acknowledging Alan's greeting and his raised hat with a stiff, unhappy little smile, and then a dozen riders had galloped between them and she was safe for the moment she needed… She touched Martin's Luck with her heels and was away before Alan could draw level with her, running away—for the first time in her life—away from hounds, deaf to the horn's bidding and the call of her own blood singing in her ears, intent only on making her escape.

  It wasn't until she had gained the concealment of the wood they had just left that Deirdre drew rein, to lean, breathless and spent, over her horse's neck, ashamed now of the panic to which she had yielded. It was absurd— absurd and childish—to have taken flight, merely because Alan Carmichael had tried, out of politeness, to bid her good-morning! They lived in the same district, fate would bring them together many times in the future, whether she liked it or not: she couldn't possibly dash into hiding every time they encountered each other. Besides, why should she? This was her home: he was the stranger. Both she and Sean—Sean, who had so much more reason to dread a meeting than she herself had—both would have, sooner or later, to face him.

  Even to herself, Deirdre would not admit how near she had come to losing her heart to Alan Carmichael, how much, even now, he meant to her. As she jogged slowly home she tried not to think of him, but the prospect of the Hunt Ball that evening loomed large in her mind and she considered a dozen excuses she might make in order to avoid going to it, only to discard each one as cowardly and disloyal to Sean. She couldn't let her brother down. Nor, for that matter, could she fail Dwight and Dan or disappoint Bridget who, with loving hands, would probably at this moment be pressing her frock, before returning to her kitchen to begin preparations for the sumptuous meal she always insisted on cooking when, on such an occasion as this, there were guests to share it with them…

  But, for all her efforts, the glimpse she had caught of Alan Carmichael continued to haunt Deirdre's thoughts and would not be dismissed. From somewhere, a long way away, she heard the faint echo of Joe Tyler's horn and in imagination she could see Alan, tall and heart-breakingly handsome in his hunting pink, riding Moonbeam with easy competence and, perhaps, looking about for her, wondering where she had got to. Or had he noticed her headlong flight, she wondered, and her cheeks burned at the realization that he probably had. Though perhaps he would attribute it to the fact that she might be schooling a young horse, as she so often did—perhaps he would think that she had fled, not from him but for some perfectly legitimate reason, quite unconnected with himself. At worst, he would think her discourteous. Pray heaven, Deirdre whispered, under her breath—pray heaven he never suspects the truth!

  She reached the road again and turned the unwilling Martin's Luck towards home, still hearing the mocking, far-off sound of the horn above the clip-clop of her horse's hooves. It wasn't yet lunch time but she could fill in the afternoon, as a penance, schooling Petitioner. And then she would go, as she had promised, to the Hunt Ball. She would face Alan Carmichael somehow…

  The Cadillac swung into the drive punctually at seven-thirty, and the two Americans, looking very spruce and smart in white tie and tails, climbed out of it selfconsciously.

  Terence, pressed into unaccustomed service in the house in order to relieve Bridget, admitted then, a grin splitting his thin young face almost in two. He and his erstwhile adversary were the best of friends now and Dwight hailed him easily.

  "Hi, there, Terry boy, how's it going? Anyone at home?"

  "Ach, sure they are, Lieutenant. And 'tis a grand dinner ye'll be havin', for haven't I been watching the cooking av it this hour past? Roast duck and peas and all the trimmings, ye've no idea." He relieved them of their coats and waved a casual hand in the direction of the drawing-room. "You'll find Mr. Sean in there, your Honour," he told Dan Haines, "and Miss Deirdre'll be down as soon as she knows you're here."

  But Deirdre, hearing their voices, was already on her way to greet them. She did so shyly, aware that Dwight's eyes had lighted up at the sight of her. He was a nice boy, she thought, as his hand closed over hers—and good-looking, now that his black eye had faded. Tall and slim and eager, full of the joy of living: straight and decent, too, making no secret of the fact that he admired her, humbly grateful for the crumbs of appreciation she threw him, yet never for an instant demanding more of her than she was prepared to give him willingly. She realized, looking up at him, how little she had been prepared to give, and was suddenly ashamed.

  "Hullo, Dwight!" She forced a light note into her voice, and added, teasing him, "I say, you do look dashing. I shall be proud to be seen with you!"

  "And you," Dwight told her huskily, "are just the loveliest thing I ever saw
, Deirdre. Why, in that dress—"

  He fingered the shimmering green taffeta with his big, competent hand and then his gaze went to the floor, as if he were afraid to look at her again, lest he betray too many of his feelings. "Oh, gee, I don't know what to say, you know that? I guess you've floored me completely."

  Dan watched them tolerantly, his eyes amused. "Come on now, Dwight—save your compliments for the end of the evening, don't waste them now, when you've got an audience. And don't forget, when we get to this Ball, that you've to share Deirdre with her brother and me. I'm two ranks ahead of you and I'm claiming the privilege of my age and service and—"

  "And your greying hair, sir?" Dwight suggested, grinning.

  "And my greying hair, boy! Obviously, I'm going to need something to persuade Deirdre to dance with me."

  They went to join Sean in the drawing-room, and over the cocktails he had mixed, the talk, as always when they were together, was of horses.

  Dwight said in a low voice to Deirdre: "You know I'm getting to feel quite sorry I didn't spend more of my vacations with that uncle of mine, down in Texas. You're all so darn good on a horse and you all know so much about them, there's times I feel I've just wasted my life, only getting through college and learning to fly airplanes and playing a bit of football now and again."

  "You ride very well," Deirdre consoled him, but he shook his handsome red head.

  "Heck, no, I'm not in your class and never will be. Dan now, he's going to ride in that point-to-point race you're having—gosh, Deirdre, I wish I could ride in it. I'd give ten years of my life to be good enough."

  Dan clapped him on the shoulder affectionately: "If you're that keen, feller, I'll give you a ride on one of my horses, when I get to be a real owner."

  "D'you mean that, sir?" Dwight asked, with such vehemence that Deirdre was startled. Dan, too, seemed, surprised. He said cautiously: "Why, yes, if you mean it, Dwight. But you'd have to take off some weight, you know, and put in a heck of a lot of practice."

  "I'll put in the practice," Dwight asserted, his jaw set, "if you'll lend me the horse."

  Dan Haines turned to Sean. "That puts me in a spot, doesn't it, Sean? Looks like I'll have to take those two horses off you, if only in order to give the boy his ride. What about it, eh? You going to let me have them?"

  Sean smiled. "I'll speak to my father, but I think you can take it they're yours. They're both on the sales list and eligible for Hunt meetings as bona fide hunters." His eyes met Deirdre's. "Deirdre and I will be glad for you to have them, but"—he hesitated, glancing at Dwight uncertainly —"you aren't serious about Dwight riding in a race, are you? I mean, you'd not be able to enter either of your horses for Hunt Members' races, since you aren't a subscriber to any of the local packs. That'd mean putting them into Open races and"—his smile in Dwight's direction was an attempt to rob his words of any intention to offend— "quite honestly, Dwight old son, you'd be up against some pretty stiff competition, you know."

  "They're all amateur riders, aren't they?" Dwight countered pugnaciously, "and I'd be on a good horse. Heck, you never get anywhere if you don't take a chance."

  "Chance your own neck, if you want to, but don't be taking chances with a good horse," Sean advised. He rose, as Terence thrust his head into the room to announce dinner. "Let's go in," he suggested.

  Deirdre led the way and Sean fell into step beside the young pilot. "If you really do want to ride over the sticks, Dwight," he said kindly, "we'll put you up on a clever old mare of ours, in the South Kinsdale Members' race. You want a bit more experience than you've had, to ride either Martin's Luck or Cavalier in an Open, you can take my word for it."

  Colour crept up under the smooth tan of Dwight's freshly shaven cheeks. "So that's it, is it—a nice, quiet, safe ride for the little boy?" His tone was challenging and it trembled on the edge of anger. "What do you know about it, anyway—you don't ride, you're an artist. I guess you think I'm a kid, Sean, but I'm not, I—"

  "Aren't you now?" Sean teased. "Ach, sure life is full of surprises. I always thought you were."

  "Well, I'm not," Dwight retorted heatedly. Ignoring a warning glance from Dan, he plunged in: "I've flown jet fighters over there in Korea—if any of you British know where that is. It's the place where we just had a nice, quiet, safe little war, pretty much all to ourselves. They didn't rate me a kid there and they didn't pick me any nice, quiet, safe little jobs either."

  "No," Sean said, very quietly, before Deirdre could intervene, "so I heard, Dwight. I'm sure you were a hero. And if you're determined to go and break your neck, racing horses you can't ride one side, of, then—to borrow a favourite expression of your own—go right ahead, buddy! I'll not try to stop you, but my sympathies will be entirely with your horse."

  Dwight's eyes opened very wide and Dan said reprovingly:

  "Hey, take it easy, you two! I guess you led with your chin that time, Nelson. Sean knows what he's talking about and I, for one, intend taking his advice. I might remind you that they're going to be my horses, so what I say goes."

  "Sure, Major." Dwight turned to Sean, abashed. "I'm sorry, I guess I lost my temper, Sean. I guess—"

  "Ach, that's all right," Sean put in quickly. But he was very white about the lips, Deirdre noticed, and a small pulse hammered furiously at the angle of his jaw.

  Dinner, though excellent, was eaten in an atmosphere of some strain, and Deirdre was relieved when the time came for them to leave for King's Martin Manor.

  But her relief was short-lived. The drive over in the Cadillac, with Dan at the wheel, was all too swift and Deirdre, sitting with a contritely silent Dwight at her side, began to wish that, after all, she had never consented to go to the Ball.

  Because, in a little while, she would have to see Alan Carmichael again, Alan and… his wife. This morning had been bad enough, but at least then he had been by himself. Now he would have his wife with him and Deirdre would have to suffer herself to be introduced, to smile as if it didn't matter, to make polite, meaningless conversation. This morning in the hunting field, when they might have met as casual acquaintances, even as friends—this morning she had run away. But tonight a whole world would separate them. Even to think of Alan now, even to remember his lean, strong face and the touch of his hand, was a betrayal of herself and everything she believed in, as well as an act of disloyalty to her brother. Tonight Sean was with her—Sean who had opened his heart to her a few hours ago, who had admitted his secret shame to her, so that she might understand and, understanding, cease to torture herself with thoughts of a man who could never be more to her than an acquaintance. Who had no right to be more than that, even if Sean could be prevailed upon to forget what had happened between them… even then!

  They reached the Manor and joined a long queue of cars crawling bonnet to tail up the long curving drive. Lights blazed from all the windows, and from the open front door came the sound of dance music, of merriment, of gay, laughing voices.

  Dan parked the car and they mounted the steps together, to surrender their tickets to a manservant at the door. The Ball had begun and now there was no escape…

  CHAPTER TEN

  The ballroom, when they reached it at the end of a long line of new arrivals like themselves, was already more than half full. Sir Henry, bluff and hearty and with Lady Hollis at his scarlet-clad elbow, received them distantly, making so perfunctory an enquiry for Dennis that Sean, to whom it was addressed, went white with rage as he answered.

  But then they were in the huge, lofty ceilinged room, brilliant with banked flowers and coloured lights, caught up in the whirl of dancers, of men in pink, in mess kit or in tails, of women and girls in a gaily bewildering variety of vividly hued dresses, all laughing and talking, all greeting each other eagerly.

  Dwight said: "Let's dance," and Deirdre found herself in his arms. "I guess"—he was looking down at her shamefacedly—"I guess I made a fool of myself again this evening, Deirdre. You must think I make a habit of riding roughs
hod over people's feelings and shooting my mouth off."

  "No," she assured him, not quite truthfully, for his uncalled-for attack on Sean had shocked her a good deal, "no, I don't, Dwight. But you ought to count ten before you speak."

  "Sure, I know." He sighed and went on unhappily: "Sean's such a good guy, the last thing I ever meant to do was hurt his feelings. I'd no notion that he'd been in Korea, until the Major told me. Gee, I don't know what to say, honest, Deirdre. It was just that I—oh, you'll think I'm crazy but—well, I reckoned that if I showed you I could ride a horse and win races like the rest of you, that you'd —why, that you'd believe that I amount to something. You see, I—I'm crazy about you, Deirdre, and—gosh, honey, I—"

  The music stopped, began again in a changed tempo and someone caught at Deirdre's hand. "Come on, it's a Paul Jones!"

  She was in the circle of women before she had quite realized it, leaving Dwight staring after her, lost and bewildered for a moment before he, too, was drawn into the dance and vanished from her sight. The circles broke and re-formed; Deirdre recognized Penelope beside her but they had scarcely done more than exchange a breathless greeting when the music again ended and a man stepped swiftly from his seat at the side of the room and took her purposefully into his arms. "Good-evening, Deirdre," Alan Carmichael said, "I've been looking for you—as I looked this morning. But you have a habit of vanishing which is most frustrating, because I've been so much wanting to see you again."